Roselle raised an eyebrow. "What's this about? Feeling nostalgic?"
"Something like that."
Dubois smiled faintly, his expression softened by memory. "Back then, we used to stay out late playing together. When we were afraid our fathers would scold us for coming home too late, we'd just find a tree nearby, sit beneath it, and lean against it till dawn. Time really does fly."
As Dubois spoke, fragmented scenes flickered through Roselle's mind—but to him, they weren't memories, not really. They were more like someone else's life playing out on a distant screen, something he could see but never feel. After all, those were things that had happened before his transmigration.
He shook his head slightly, dismissing the hazy images, then raised his bottle and clinked it against Dubois's. "Alright then—to the past."
"Mm."
Both men tipped their bottles upward.
Roselle only took a small sip, but Dubois gulped down nearly half of his bottle in one go.
Roselle frowned. "What's up with you tonight? You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Setting his bottle aside, Dubois casually wiped his mouth and said, "You know, I've been waiting for this day for a long time."
"Waiting? For what?"
Dubois looked at him steadily, his gaze shimmering with emotion—complex, almost painful.
"Whoa, hold on!" Roselle scooted back in alarm. "You're not about to confess your love to me, are you? I mean, I know some nobles are into that sort of thing, but I'm not! My orientation's been the same since I was a kid—I like beautiful women! Long hair, big chests, long legs—"
"How is he doing?" Dubois interrupted suddenly, his voice tight and rough.
"???" Roselle blinked. "Who?"
"Roselle Gustav."
Roselle's heart gave a sharp jolt. "What are you talking about? I'm Roselle Gustav."
"I'm talking about…the original Roselle," Dubois said quietly, his eyes locking onto Roselle's. "The one who grew up with me. The one I protected. The foolish, naïve Roselle I used to know."
"…"
Roselle fell silent.
By now, after encountering several people who'd realised he was a transmigrator, he no longer panicked when someone pointed it out. So when Dubois spoke those words with such certainty, Huang Tao—the soul behind Roselle's body—felt surprisingly calm.
He met Dubois's gaze directly, without the slightest attempt to evade it. "I am the Roselle you're talking about."
Dubois nodded slightly, then took another deep swig of blood-red wine. "It was that day, wasn't it? When you fell off the horse that went mad. You came out completely unscathed—but the truth is, the real Roselle died that day. And then, you appeared."
Huang Tao sighed and shook his head helplessly. "Dubois, you're overthinking things. None of that happened." He forced a grin. "Heh, I think you just couldn't handle me suddenly becoming sharper, smarter, and more successful than you, huh?"
"To be honest…yeah, a little." Dubois gave a wry smile. "At first, I thought the sense of strangeness and disconnect I felt around you was just jealousy."
"So I did a lot of self-reflection. I even followed you here to Trier. And as I watched you day after day, you started becoming more and more like the Roselle I remembered. The awkwardness, the alien feeling—they all faded. I actually breathed a sigh of relief back then, thinking I'd just been imagining it."
Huang Tao said flatly, "That's exactly what it was—your imagination."
"But…"
Dubois closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them slowly. "No matter how much you act like him, you're still not him. Every time I look at you, it feels like I'm looking at a stranger wearing his skin. It terrifies me—from the depths of my soul. That's why I chose to part ways with you."
"No wonder."
Huang Tao plucked a blade of grass and tossed it away. "I always wondered why you suddenly turned on me over that courtesan."
"So tell me," Dubois said quietly, "did he really die that day? Did he completely disappear?"
Huang Tao rubbed his forehead. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol taking effect or Dubois's questions stirring his mind, but a dull ache throbbed through his skull.
He lifted the bottle again, took another drink, and said softly, "He…No. Of course I didn't die."
"I am Roselle Gustav. Something did happen to me, yes—you could say I awakened some memories of a past life. So maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm different now. But I'm still Roselle. The real, genuine Roselle Gustav!"
Dubois stared at him in silence for a long time. Then he nodded slowly.
"I understand."
He lifted his nearly empty bottle. "To you, Roselle."
He clinked it against Roselle's once more, then drained the last of the blood wine. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he said in a quiet voice, "Everything we said tonight—when we wake tomorrow, we'll forget it all."
He stepped back, gave a small, solemn bow. "Good night."
Then, holding the empty bottle, he staggered away into the darkness.
Roselle watched as Dubois's silhouette disappeared into the distance. His expression was calm—calmer than it had been in a long time.
Had this been before he met the Chairman or that priest, he would very likely have done something "rational."
For example—killing Dubois.
But now…none of it seemed to matter anymore.
Just as he'd told Dubois moments ago, his existence could be described in two equally valid ways: Huang Tao's soul transmigrated into Roselle's body and inherited his memories, or Roselle himself awakened the memories of Huang Tao.
In truth, the one who had really died was Huang Tao of Earth, not Roselle Gustav, the man who truly belonged to this world.
"Heh."
Roselle casually tossed the bottle aside and used the tree beside him for support as he stood up. "That bastard Dubois…really is my best friend, huh? Even my parents didn't notice anything, but he actually figured it out."
He stumbled forward a few steps, half-drunken, muttering under his breath, "This world really is real. No NPC could have feelings that genuine. This kind of emotion…it's really…"
"Ugh—bleghhh!!!"
He doubled over and vomited loudly into the grass.
———
Why had Dubois chosen the Spectator pathway?
Because it allowed him to see—truly see.
To perceive whether someone was lying, to glimpse the truth behind their thoughts.
And once he became a Psychiatrist, he could even perform Psychological Cues, subtly guiding others' actions with his gaze alone.
Yes, that was his plan all along.
But when the day actually came, when he stood face to face with Roselle…he didn't use any of it.
He wasn't even sure why—was it fear? Worry? Or was it simply that he didn't want to hear the answer he already dreaded?
He tilted his head back, gazing up at the crimson moon above.
"Well…since I've asked, I guess that's enough. From tonight onward, I'll slowly forget this."
Maybe Roselle had been telling the truth.
Maybe he really had just awakened the memories of a past life.
Maybe he was still the same Roselle.
Or maybe…
Dubois chuckled self-deprecatingly. He tapped his forehead lightly—and used Psychological Cues on himself.
———
At that very moment, Zaratul was hesitating.
After severing the connection to his Marionette, he had immediately fled Trier.
Along the way, he continuously cast layers of concealment and anti-divination, jumping between locations through the Spirit World using his Apprentice-Pathway Marionette. He changed routes repeatedly, circling around the map, and switched hiding spots over ten times in a single night.
It wasn't until the following morning that he dared to stop—and look back on all his precautions.
Nothing had happened.
No traps had been triggered.
No one had tried to divine him.
No one had been searching for him.
"So…I spent the whole night outsmarting the air?"
Could it really have been pure coincidence that Roselle happened to pick up the Antigonus Family Notebook?
His intuition screamed that such a coincidence was impossible—and yet, the evidence before him said otherwise.
After several more rounds of divination confirmed that there was still no danger, Zaratul finally settled on a mist-shrouded island in the middle of the Fog Sea. There, he reviewed everything that had happened from beginning to end.
The result?
Several more hours wasted—and still nothing to show for it.
He was now faced with a dilemma: Should he follow the results of his dream-divination from the Antigonus Notebook and go to the main peak of Mount Hornacis?
Of course, he had to go.
He couldn't stay stuck at Sequence 2 forever. But the question was—when?
If the notebook was indeed bait set by someone else, and since they hadn't acted when he acquired it, then the trap was likely waiting for him on the way to Mount Hornacis.
So should he wait—years, even decades—until his enemies relaxed, and then strike when they least expected it?
Or should he go now, immediately, to catch them off guard instead?
Clink.
He flipped a coin. "Going to Mount Hornacis now is dangerous."
Heads—confirmation.
He wasn't surprised. Trying to seize the Sequence 1 Beyonder characteristic of Antigonus without danger would have been the real miracle.
After a long moment of thought, Zarath raised his hand and summoned a Historical Projection of himself.
A few seconds later, the copy's once-vacant eyes flickered with life, while the true Zaratul entered a standby state.
That was the unique trait of the Seer Pathway's Historical Projections—"Singularity of Consciousness."
Only one consciousness could exist within a single timeline. A projection was lifeless by default—for consciousness to descend into it, the true body must fall unconscious.
Once the transfer was complete, the Historical Projection created another projection—that of a Traveler—and the two of them stepped into the Spirit World.
After a brief passage through its ever-shifting mists, they emerged before a towering black mountain peak.
This was—Mount Hornacis.
———
No. 28 Emerald Street.
Edward sat back in his chair, legs crossed on his desk, arms folded, a look of bemusement on his face.
When Dubois had informed him of his plan to "have a private conversation" with Roselle, Edward's mischievous side had immediately stirred. He had secretly followed them—purely out of curiosity—wanting to see what these two middle-aged "best friends" would talk about in the dead of night.
And what he witnessed…was that.
Dubois had long discovered that this Roselle was not the original one.
That was why he'd suddenly fallen out with Roselle back then, refusing any of his help for years no matter how hard life became.
Thinking about it now, Edward realised that Dubois's rapid advancement along the Spectator Pathway was likely all in preparation for that conversation tonight.
But in the end, he hadn't used any Psychological Cues, nor had he gotten a clear answer from Roselle before walking away alone.
So…had he reconciled with Roselle?
Or had he simply made peace with himself?
After Dubois left, Edward had watched Roselle carefully, expecting some reaction. Based on Roselle's personality—as depicted in the original historical records—if his identity had truly been exposed, he would never have left a potential threat alive.
Yet the expression on Roselle's face at that time showed not a hint of killing intent or alarm.
Was it that the original Roselle's instincts were influencing him…or did he simply no longer care?
Either way, Edward thought as he swirled the wine in his glass, smirking, It was one hell of a show to watch.
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.